Triad
by Clotho
Summary: Three short, and very bleak, HH3 Point of Views
1. Matthews

**Triad**  
  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own characters or situations. They belong to the C. S. Forester estate and A&E productions.  
  
**Note:** You really need to know both the HH3 episodes to understand any of these little reflections. They are not arranged in chronological order, merely an order I happen to like. I'm aware the interpretation of one of Hornblower's speeches given here is certainly not what A&E intended: I just like my interpretation better.  
  
**A word of warning:** if you think Pellew's Bible quoting speech from the end of 'Loyalty' was one of the series's sweetest moments, then you won't like the third vignette.  
  
**1. Matthews**  
  
She called him heartless. She wasn't meaning any of us to hear her, but I did.  
  
And she's right. Bad though it is, she's right. He doesn't have the heart he should. Not now. He doesn't have the heart he used to.  
  
And I know why. Not that I'd say it to her. It ain't her business. But I know, even if he don't.  
  
You hear them say it. You hear them speak of someone whose heart is buried in a grave somewhere. But you don't think what it means. Usually it don't mean anything, just fancy words. But I've seen it now, and I know what it means when it happens. Because if a heart's in a grave, it ain't where it should be. If a man's left his heart somewhere, he don't have it any more. He's heartless.  
  
Like the captain is these days.  
  
I don't mean he's not a decent man still. Look at the way he let Doughty go – though I'd wondered if he would, and there was a time when I wouldn't have wondered that. But he did it. He knows what's right and he'll act on that, if it ain't too important.  
  
What he'll do if it was, I don't like to think, which is mostly because I reckon I know.  
  
He's decent still, at least on things that don't matter all that much, but it ain't from the heart like it used to be. Because he doesn't properly have a heart these days.  
  
He left his heart in Kingston, whether he knows it himself or not. And times I reckon the knowing it'll break my own.  
  
I think back to how he was when I first knew him and how much he _cared_, and then I think to how he is now and how it's not there any more. When he's angry even, and I've seen it, it ain't about the things that used to matter to him. And I wonder, I remember the man who would take us back to a Spanish prison, because he'd given his word, and I wonder if he'd do that now, or if he'd say it was for the good of the service to break that word....  
  
He _is_ decent still. But there's something gone from him. And I don't reckon I'll ever see it coming back.  
  
And sometimes I think as it's maybe a good thing Mr Kennedy ain't here to see this. And then I remember it's his not being here that's at the root of it anyway.


	2. Bush

**2. Bush**  
  
I never realised.  
  
How could I realise? You don't expect to encounter a thing like in a man who has as much to gain from life as he does. I'd no idea.  
  
But I know now.  
  
He'd seemed so happy. Even when I met him in Portsmouth, down on his luck, he seemed cheerful. And friendly too, open and welcoming, to a man he'd hadn't known all that well. I was surprised, but then almost all I known of him had been on the Renown and nothing was normal there. I thought this must be the real man, this cheery, optimistic fellow, untroubled by the past. When we met Hammond again, I was expecting something then, something more than the mild caution that he showed. Some pain, some bitterness. But there was nothing. I looked into his eyes, and they weren't veiled. He wasn't hiding feeling: there was nothing there. I thought it an enviable ability, to forget so fast.  
  
I'm still sure he was not acting. I remember on Renown, when he would try to hide his feelings, the real emotion was always very clear. But perhaps he wasn't fooling himself then. How he was in Portsmouth, perhaps that was showing the way he'd convinced himself things really were. Perhaps he seemed genuine because he believed it himself. But what showed wasn't the truth of things. I'm sure of that now.  
  
After he got Hotspur he seemed on top of the world, but that was only to be expected. And if he seemed more glum after the marriage, well, even he must have known he'd made a bad mistake there. I still wonder if there should have been a way to stop him, but even with all his friendliness, we weren't on those sort of terms and I doubt we ever will be.  
  
I didn't _know_. Not until he turned and shouted at me that it hadn't been brave of him to take the bomb in his hands and save us all, that it hadn't been brave because he was expecting to be blown to pieces.  
  
It wasn't an admission of fear. I may not be skilled at reading others, but one thing I do know is that this man would _never_ admit fear to a subordinate, least of all one he was angry with. No, he wasn't talking about fear.  
  
He _wants_ to die.  
  
It wasn't brave, because he'd welcome death. That's what he said, and I wonder if even now, he realises how completely he exposed himself. If he even knows what it is he truly wants.  
  
That was the real reason he had been angry with me for protecting his life. Not concern for the ship as he claimed, though that was a likely reason enough. He was angry because I'd snatched death away from him. And then, when I saved his life on deck a few days later, I saw, all too clearly, the disappointment in his face, before he cleared it away and said the things he ought to say.  
  
He wanted death, and I couldn't bring myself to let him have it. Well, how can I? I'm an officer of the Navy and he is my captain. As he would say: Duty before personal feelings. It's my duty to protect my captain's life. Especially a captain as able as he is.  
  
I wonder now, how far it goes back? Was he like this on Renown? How can I know? He might have been. I remember how angry he was, when we came back for him at the fort. But when I try to remember if the look on his face was the same one I saw on Hotspur, I find that I cannot. Too long ago.  
  
I wonder what made him this way, but it's really none of my affair.  
  
He won't die, of course. I've seen one or two men with a desire for death, though never with so little reason, and they never do find what they seek. He'll outlive us all, I'm sure.  
  
And I'll stay. Not because of the opportunities serving with him will offer, although that was in my mind when I first took this post. No, I'll stay for the reason he'd like least.  
  
Because I'm so damned _sorry_ for him.


	3. Hornblower

**3. Hornblower**  
  
Was I supposed to be pleased?  
  
I'd worked so much, so hard, for his approval. Sometimes I earned a little, but never enough to slack the hunger. And then to receive praise that was fulsome, not for courage, not even for resource. For proposing a lie.  
  
Did he expect me to be flattered?  
  
It was necessary. It was not something that I wanted sentiment about. It was not something that should have been lauded, with a quote from the Bible of all forsaken things. If I believed in religion, I'd count that close to blasphemy. I remember my youthful lessons: thou shalt not bear false witness, saith the Lord. I still believe this lie was needed, but I am not proud of it. Was he truly proud? What should I think of him if he was?  
  
When I joined the Navy I expected a life of honour. That naivety is dead by now. Still, I was not expecting that. I was not expecting to hear that regard for the truth is _childish_ and only when I'd learned to lie without hesitation or regret could I be accepted for a man.  
  
What kind of a service believes that?  
  
What kind of man am I, that I continue in a service which finds lies praiseworthy? And what will I become?


End file.
